


Aging Gracefully

by JoyBurd



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, PWP, Self-Preparation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-18 07:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11286099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyBurd/pseuds/JoyBurd
Summary: Some days Graves just feels old.





	Aging Gracefully

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna hear a joke. This has been a WIP since February.

Some days Graves just feels old.

And he’s not actually that old, pushing forty, graying well at the temples. It makes him look distinguished, he thinks, like he’s worked for something. Most days he’s fine, feels confident and competent in his job and his life.

Other days he wakes up and his knees burn and creak or his shoulders ache. Rainy days are the worst, when there’s moisture in the air, or days that are too sunny, and the heat burns across his skin so he feels like if he moves too much he’ll crinkle, just crumble into dust. If he grips his wand too hard he can feel it all the way up his arm, and his fingers shake. He feels weak.

These are the days when he needs Credence most.

He gets home and Credence is there, greeting him at the door, easing the coat off his shoulders with warm, sliding fingers. And the boy is so good at this, because he’s always here, every day, and he picks up on Graves’ moods so quickly. He’s touching him more than he strictly needs to, hands brushing Graves’ rib cage and arms in ways that are bringing Graves back into himself, re-familiarizing him with the realities of his own body.

“Credence,” Graves growls, and it’s all the warning he gives before he rushes the boy, grips him by the throat—not hard, just enough to remind both Credence and himself that he could make it hard—and Graves presses himself against him, his whole body from his chest to his thigh, right up between Credence’s legs. Credence’s hands are on Graves’ wrist, the one around his throat, gripping, nails digging into his skin. Graves groans, shifting his body harder into Credence’s, and he holds him there, at the end of his arm, so he can watch Credence’s mouth gasp open, his hair a mess, hanging haphazardly at all angles like he just woke up.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Graves,” Credence gasps.

Graves presses harder in response, and he sees Credence’s eyes go up toward the ceiling, his pink mouth drop open further. “That’s cheeky, wishing me a good afternoon with I’ve got your throat in my hand.”

Credence just gasps. He’s meant to blink twice, quick, if it’s too much—though Graves has also invited the boy to kick him, something he’s never taken advantage of—but Credence's eyelashes are fluttering open and closed consistently, like a heartbeat. His head is pressed back against the wall, and the column of his throat is long and smooth. His eyes are glazed over like he’s trying to focus on the feeling of Graves’ fingers on him, not wide and bursting like he’s struggling to air. These things tell Graves he's welcome to continue.

Graves feels his own arm, flexing under his shirt with the force of how he’s pressing his full body weight into Credence because he knows he can take it. He lunges forward, mouthing openly against Credence’s lips before he kisses him, breathing hard against the wet skin of his lips.

He lets Credence breathe freely just before he slots his mouth into his and Credence sucks in the air that hitches in Credence's throat as he grinds hard into Credence’s hips. Credence is sighing and choking, letting out little caught sounds of pleasure while Graves holds him there, mouthing at him and toying with him. Credence tries to follow him dizzily, tries to predict where his mouth will be so he can kiss him but Graves always smiles and kisses him somewhere else instead, so their lips never meet straight on, so the boy is never sure of his footing. So Graves is in control. They kiss like that, with these sloppily placed approximations, before Credence lets out a high whine and Graves feels the boy's thighs on his hips. His hands drift down to find that Credence has lifted his legs to wrap them around Graves’ hips, his own hips levered back against the wall by Graves’ pressing into him, holding him off the floor. Graves slips his palms under Credence’s thighs, holding him there.

Credence is whining consistently now, his hips bucking up against Graves, and Graves knows this means he’s already close.

“Slow down,” Graves says. He lets his hands drift higher, up to grip Credence’s ass and pull him back slightly.

“Please please please,” Credence murmurs. he wraps his hands around the back of Graves’ head, trying to pull his head close to he can kiss him. “Please let me come,” he says, gasping into Graves’ mouth.

Credence is like this sometimes. Graves thinks its because he’s never been able to ask for anything before, with any sureness the request won’t be met with violence. Credence has never had the freedom to demand something. And Graves is happy to give, a place in his home, in his heart, in his bed. Graves would give him anything.

“Not yet,” Graves says, and he pulls his head back out of Credece’s grasp easily, like tearing a blade of grass in half. “We have all evening.”

Credence lets out a tortured groan, and his hips press up into empty space. Graves has pulled back so far that only Credence’s shoulders touch the wall now, and he’s arching forward into Graves, his back forming a bridge. Credence is staring at him from under his heavy brow, almost murderous.

“I know,” Graves says, feeling how hard he is himself , still trapped in his work trousers. “But I want you on the bed today.”

“Yes,” Credence says breathlessly, and the anger is abruptly gone from his expression as he closes his eyes and arches up again, like just the thought is getting him off. “Take me.”

Graves obliges, wrapping an arm around Credence’s back and pulling him off the wall, shifting him until he can carry him easily.

Credence doesn’t make the trip up the stairs easy, though. He mouths at Graves’ neck, undulating against him so his cock drags against Graves’ stomach where he’s situated high on Graves’ hips. Graves breathes hard, and Credence takes that minute to murmur, “Fuck,” breathily in his ear and Graves arm shoots out to wrap a hand around the stairwell, feeling desire shoot through his body like a shiver, right down to his fingertips. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his knuckles turn white.

Credence’s chest vibrates with laughter against his. “Too much?”

“I like it,” Graves says quickly, his breath moving almost too fast in his chest. He shifts to get the one arm supporting Credence fully under Credence’s ass, pressing him against him more tightly than before. He isn’t sure what he needs other than Credence closer.

But Credence’s legs slide from around his hips, down to the step above him so Credence is supporting his own weight, but still leaning so fully against Graves that he can’t release the railing out of worry he might fall and send them both tumbling back into the entryway.

“Then come on,” Credence says, and Graves feels his hips moving, grinding slowly, purposefully into his. “Get me to bed,” Credence says, his breath ghosting against Graves’ ear.

Graves hips give two, unauthorized thrusts at that and Credence laughs harder.

“Shut up and let me get up these stairs,” Graves says, pushing Credence with his whole body.

Credence turns, and makes his way up the stairs two at a time. Graves laughs, at first, imagining the boy's eagerness until he gets distracted by something on the back of the boy's trousers. And now he can't breathe.

"Credence," Graves calls after him, but the sound dies in his chest due to lack of air. "Credence," he tries again. But the boy has already disappeared over the landing.

By the time Graves regains control of his respiratory system and gets himself the rest of the way to the bedroom, Credence's pants are already off. He's got himself propped back against the pillows, hasn't even bothered to unmake the bed after this morning, and he's got two fingers inside himself.

"Credence, did you-" Graves interrupts himself to grip the doorway and breathe out heavily through is nose. He can hear the sound of Credence's fingers moving, the slick sound of more than just a few seconds of preparation. "Have you been-"

"I got myself ready for you," Credence says, almost casual in his tone. If his brow wasn't so heavy and his eyes so intent, they could be having a conversation about dinner. "I get bored. And I didn't want to wait."

"No," Graves says. "That would be truly terrible."

He wants to ravage him, cross the space between them in a few steps and rip the buttons off his own shirt, pull Credence's shirt open as well, so he can feel them moving together when he pulls Credence closer to him with his hands under the boy's knees and pushes himself inside him. He can tell even now he could, be flush inside him just as quick and hard as he'd already kissed him. The stretch would be exactly what the cheeky little idiot deserved for pulling this stunt.

"I wanted you inside me the moment you got home," Credence says in a whisper. And then he tilts his head back, and there's a moan under his breath that he's not releasing but Graves can almost _hear_. Graves can't see, but he knows the face Credence is making: eyes closed, mouth open. He's seen it a dozen times.

"But you wanted _slow_ ," Credence says. "We have all evening, that's what you said."

"I know what I said," Graves replies. He releases the doorway to pull his day jacket off, letting it slip off his arms and onto the floor. He never takes his eyes off Credence's fingers.

"Is this slow enough for you?" Credences says, and the groan he's been holding slips out as Credence's fingers pull slowly out from inside him. Graves knows they have to be brushing that spot the boy likes, just knows it.

Graves knees hit the end of the bed, steadying himself as he watches. He's reaching for the buttons at the top of his shirt as he crawls his way forward on his knees, straddling the space just below Credence's bent legs.

"You look good like this," Graves says. And he means it. Credence is a sharp line all the way up to the edge of his tilted back chin, his chest flushed and moving rapidly.

Credence's chin drops at that, and he stares at Graves' fingers where they've moved on to lower buttons.

"You're so good for me," Graves says, because he wants Credence to look at his face, just for a minute.

Credence's eyes are dark and his tongue is out on his lips when his eyes flick up to meet Graves'. It's like being pulled, a little, the sensation Graves gets in these moments. All at once it is both a wave of force pushing him forward, and the feeling that something right in the middle of his chest is tied to Credence, and gives a short, sharp tug.

Graves gets the last button on his shirt undone and looks down to untuck it, breaking the moment.

"Keep it on," Credence says, and out of the corner of his eye Graves sees Credence's fingers slip out his hole. "Please."

"Of course," Graves says. He undoes his belt as well, but he can't keep his hands off Credence much longer, can't stand to and doesn't want to.

Graves leans forward, his hands brushing the mattress on either side of Credence to support his own weight. Credence's legs are propped up and spread, wide enough Graves' shoulders could fit between them. Graves takes advantage of this, kisses the back of Credence's knee.

"No, come on," Credence says, one hand pushing at Graves' shoulder. Graves looks up at him from behind his knee, blowing slightly on the spit-wet spot he's left. Credence shudders, but the impatience in his expression doesn't go away. "I want you to fuck me. Come on."

Graves inclines his head, reaching for the buttons on his own trousers. "Keep asking," he murmurs into Credence's skin.

"Fuck me," Credence says, and Graves doesn't have to look to know his head is tilted back again. "Please please, please fuck me. Fuck me. Fu-"

The last one turns into a little exclamation, then a groan, as Graves presses his cock against Credence's hole, just enough to slip inside just barely. Graves' trousers aren't even all the way off and Credence is murmuring nonsense, one arm thrown over his eyes. Graves reaches for his hands, weaving their fingers together, pulling Credence's hands so they're above his head.

"Keep going," Graves says.

"I could say the same to you," Credence says, breathless. One short thrust and Graves is deep inside him, close this time to see Credence's face melt through surprise and pleasure.

"Ask me," Graves says.

Credence hums, his eyes clenched tight and his lips pressed together so they're pale and bloodless. Graves pulls back slowly, until he's just hooking the edge of Credence's rim.

"Please," Credence says. His arms strain against Graves' hold and his hips give abortive little jerks but Graves has got him.

Graves lets his head fall into the crook of Credence's neck, just letting his teeth scrape against the skin without biting. His push back into Credence is slow, and Credence's torso wriggles under him, wanting speed, wanting quickness.

"Fuck me," Credence says, simple, matter-of-fact. "Fuck me, please, for the love of God."

Graves gives one smooth thrust and Credence keens high in his throat. "Please more. Please."

Graves' trousers are hanging off his hips and his belt buckle is hitting Credence's foot but he gives the boy what he wants. It's not fast but it's hard, each thrust getting him deep. The bed doesn't creak--it's too nice for that.

But soon it isn't enough for Credence.

"Faster," Credence says. "Please faster, I'm so-" Credence bites his own lip, his eyes still clenched shut.

"Look at me," Graves says. Credence does, eyes hazy like they had been downstairs, like he's focusing on sensation, not site.

Graves pulls Credence's hands so they're on his shoulders. Credence's blunt nails dig into the fabric of his shirt, scrambling for purchase.

"Hold on," Graves says. He slips his hands under Credence's hips and pulls, back so they're sitting, with Credence in his lap. The movement causes him to slip out of the boy, and he holds him there, just above his cock.

"Go on," Graves says, adjusting them so Credence's legs on either side of his hips. "I'm not going to force you down."

Credence wastes no time at all, sinking himself on Graves' cock almost fast enough to worry him. His leverage is awful, with his heels digging into the mattress behind Graves, so instead of bouncing he grinds forward once he's got Graves inside him. Credence lets out a long groan at the first thrust, lets one hand drift forward to palm at Graves' chest before it slips to the side and grabs at the edge of Graves shirt, like he wants to pull him closer.

Graves knows he's hitting the right spot because Credence is _loud_ , grabby. His nails rake against Graves' chest and shoulder and his mouth is an endless stream of moans and half-formed words. Graves could watch him like this all evening, but he himself is almost painfully hard at this point, aching to come. Graves grips Credence's hip, rolling himself forward to meet Credence. Credence's cock in-between them leaves wet, sticky spots on Graves' chest, and Graves comes all of a sudden at the thought that he should make Credence lick them off his chest later.

"Oh, fuck," Credence says. "Fuck!"

Credence's release is warm on Graves' chest but he knows that won't last. Credence keeps pushing himself forward, his arms slip off Graves so his hands are pressed into the mattress behind him and fuck himself forward, chasing the edges of his orgasm. Graves holds him, fingers digging into his hip as Credence comes.

Credence falls backward, his legs still gripping Graves' sides. His chest heaves while he presses both his palms into his eyes. Graves wants to kiss the flush that's spread all the way down Credence's chest.

"That's why your hair was such a mess," Graves says.

"What? Oh," Credence says. He props himself up on his elbows so he can look at Graves. His eyes flick quickly down over Graves' chest, covered in his own release, and he smirks, just the one side of his plump mouth tugging upward. "Yes, that's why."

"You prepped yourself," Graves says, "And you put on trousers so I wouldn't suspect."

Credence gives a shrug, the smirk still stuck to his face. "Surprise."

Graves chuckles. "Just don't make it a constant occurrence. You might kill me."

"You're heartier than all that," Credence says. He lifts himself forward, pressing close so his mouth drags against Graves'. "I think you'll survive a lot more yet. You'll see."

"I might go into cardiac arrest if I come home again and there's a wet spot on the back of your trousers," Graves says against Credence's mouth, trying to laugh.

"Maybe, but at least you'll die happy," Credence replies.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know about typos and junk in the comments. I wrote so much of this while on tour with a sports team and I was #altered.


End file.
